


fleeting

by brendonurie



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Speed Dating, brallon, sexy times ensue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1564109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brendonurie/pseuds/brendonurie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon goes in expecting nothing. He comes out with a phone number and a boy on his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

          Brendon makes his way down the bustling avenue, cursing his friend for getting him into this. Spencer managed to persuade him into taking a chance, but didn’t even come along. Some friend. Brendon didn’t think he needed this, but considering the way he finds himself in Spencer’s bunk in the mornings and how close he instinctually sits next to people, he could be wrong.

          Spencer’s handwriting is scribbled on an index card, detailing the address of the event. As Brendon rounds the street corner, he sees a makeshift cardboard sign that lets him know he’s found the place. He braces for the worst, reminding himself that at the very least, he should come out with some good stories to tell. At best, he expects to make a friend or two. He slides his hands into his pockets and struts into the coffee shop.

 

***

 

          Brendon splashes a bit of half-and-half into his coffee before slouching into an armchair in the corner, taking this opportunity to survey the people around him; there’s certainly a wide variety of them. He spots someone in a dress that’s bright orange having a conversation with someone in a denim vest with a short mohawk. There is a group of people talking amongst themselves in a different set of armchairs, all with matching leather jackets. Some cute folk, but they’re outweighed by people Brendon could never see himself even knowing. He looks down at his nametag where his first name is scrawled just above his identifying pronouns, and again he’s reminded of the weird, off-putting situation he’s in. When he looks at his watch he winces, because the event should be starting any minute now.

          No sooner than Brendon lowers his wrist, someone stands up and addresses the small crowd.

          “Hi, everyone. If you’re here for the speed-dating event, we’re gonna get started! If you guys could help me arrange these chairs and tables, that would _speed_ along our process!”

          A few people chuckle at the leader’s pun, but Brendon outwardly groans at the use of the phrase “speed-dating”. He had really been hoping they wouldn’t use that phrase. As much as Brendon would like to meet someone, he wishes he didn’t have to meet them like this.

          The chairs and tables are arranged in two small rows, with a table between each set of two chairs. Brendon finishes helping place a few chairs before going to order another cup of coffee. The coordinator is placing a small stack of index cards and pens on each table and they ask the participants to stand around the small setup.

          “Now that we’ve got everything set up, I’ll go ahead and begin explaining how this all works.” They gesture around the room. “By the way, my name is Tabitha, don’t hesitate to ask any questions!”

          While Tabitha is talking, Brendon moves to the little station that houses the sugar and creamer. As he grabs the half-and-half, the door opens. Four guys saunter in, not bothering with indoor voices. They are laughing about something; raucous, unforgiving laughter, probably at someone’s expense. Most, if not all, of the people in the little shop turn to look at the newcomers. Tabitha looks a bit taken aback at this interruption. The four stop in their tracks when they notice the quiet scene in front of them.

          “Hi, are you here for speed-dating?” Tabitha offers. The man in front’s eyes quickly dart about the room.

          “Speed-dating, huh? Yeah, sign us up,” he speaks for his group, although his group doesn’t agree. Murmurs of protest arise from the four while the rest of the patrons look on.

          Having frozen at their entrance, Brendon resumes preparation of his coffee. As soon as he replaces the carton, the leader of the small group speaks again.

          “Anyway, yeah. Like I said. We’re in,” he affirms, with a hint of a smile. He’s still sort of trying to convince his friends; they look like a pretty loyal group, despite their protests.

          “Great! I’m just now explaining how everything works,” Tabitha continues her spiel. Brendon moves closer to the whole group so he can hear better. Giving another throwaway glance around the circle, Brendon’s eyes fall on the little ringleader. He’s quite tall, taller than Spencer. He has lots of hair, and it’s cast haphazardly about, framing his face just so. He has a nice sense of style, too, but that’s the last thing Brendon has time to notice before the ringleader and everyone else around him is in motion. All the participants are looking around to find seats within the two rows. Brendon ends up sitting across from the person with the bright orange dress. Brendon notes that their nametag reads, “ALEX!!” in big bubble letters, and their pronouns are gender neutral. Within moments, the coordinator announces the beginning of this “round”.

          “Hi, I’m Alex! What’s your name?” They’re very enthusiastic.

          “Oh, ah, I’m Brendon,” he says, casting a glance over his shoulder at the same time. He sees that the ringleader sat across from one of his friends. Brendon wouldn’t exactly say he’s surprised that they aren’t taking it seriously. The person across from Brendon cranes their neck to see what he’s looking at.

          “Um, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. What did you say your name was?”

          “Oh, I’m Brendon, sorry,” he announces, trying to make up for his failed first introduction. The rest of Brendon’s round with Alex is filled with pleasantries about themselves, things like hobbies, favorites, and some history. In fact, all of Brendon’s rounds look a lot like his round with Alex. Every round is quick, only two minutes or so each. Even if there were someone here who’s for Brendon, each encounter is so fleeting, he’d probably never know it.

          After a few more rounds of mind-numbing pleasantry, Brendon finds himself across from the ringleader. Before he can look at Ringleader’s nametag, his hand covers it. Brendon’s eyes move up and meet Ringleader’s. Tabitha announces the beginning of the new round.

          “What do you play?” Ringleader speaks low and quick. Brendon’s caught off-guard by the change of pace, but he’s quick to get back on his feet.

          “How did you know I play any instruments?”

          “I didn’t, I just don’t see a future with anyone who doesn’t, so I figured I’d get it out of the way.”

          Brendon smiles at the outlandish tactics. Ringleader’s the ringleader for a reason.

          “I play the drums, guitar… Other junk. I sing.”

          “Oho! A singer? Got a diva on my hands, do I?”

          “Oh, come on, singers aren’t that-“

          “I sing too. I play the bass, as well. ‘Other junk’, too, as you so aptly put it,” Ringleader gives a short, breathy laugh and a glimpse of his teeth before moving his hand away from his chest where his nametag resides.

          “Dallon?”

          “Ah, yes. My name. Not Dallas, not Devon, not Dollop. Dallon.”

          Brendon chuckles at the practiced manner with which Dallon speaks. He’s clearly had to correct a few people in his day, too.

          “I’m Brendon. Not Brandon, not Brendan, not Brayden. Brendon.” He extends his hand across the coffee-stained table separating them. Dallon smiles and gives a hardy handshake.

          “Lemme tell you the one thing I can tell from looking at you, Brendon: You like your coffee with half-and-half.”

          “And I suppose you don’t just know that because I was ferociously gripping the half-and-half carton when you walked in.” Brendon feels a little fluttery at the idea of Dallon noticing _him_.

          “Absolutely not. What can you tell just by looking at me?”

          “You’re the leader of your little group of friends,” Brendon retorts. He refuses to be outwitted by this guy.

          “Oh, my. You’ve hit the nail on the head, I think. I am sort of the frontman of our band.”

          “Someone sounds a little modest. Frontmen shouldn’t be modest. I’m the frontman of my band, too. That’s a cold, hard fact,” Brendon pounds his fist on the table. “No ‘I thinks’, no ‘sort ofs’.” He laughs inwardly at his own hypocrisy. Dallon’s the first person here that he’s told he even has a band.

          “I suppose you’re right. I’m our frontman!” Dallon cheers with faux excitement.

          Tabitha announces that the round is over, reminding participants to exchange contact information if they desire. This catches Brendon off guard; all of the prior rounds were so fast and blurry, this one felt a little more substantial and so much longer.

          “Do you desire?” Dallon’s coy face is playful, but still seems sincere.

          “Oh, hells yes I desire.” Both reach for the index cards at the same time and their knuckles meet. “Oop, sorry.”

          “Don’t be, sweetthang.”

          Brendon laughs at the nickname. They both grab index cards and write out their full names and phone numbers. Dallon’s the first person Brendon’s exchanged info with. When he passes his card over to Dallon, he snatches it up and looks at it before kissing it. That coy face reappears and Dallon fans himself with the card.

          “I hope you don’t expect me to wait three days.”

          “God, no. Besides, I’m only in town for three more days. Gotta act fast for this deal, Dallon.”

          “Duly noted, Brendon,” Dallon slides the index card into his breast pocket, and it peeks out just a little. It doesn’t look like there are any other cards in there.

          The rest of the rounds pass by like wind for Brendon. Going back to exchanging simple small talk allows Brendon to shut off his brain and think about other things. He can’t stop thinking about Dallon. Was he flirting? Did he mean it? Has he been like that with everyone? Every so often, he looks around for Dallon, hoping for a clue. Dallon looks engaged with most of the other people he talks to, sharing laughter and conversation. Brendon never catches Dallon looking his way, not even a glance.

          By the end of the event, Brendon’s a little discouraged.

 _“I’m kidding myself if I really thought a guy like him could take this seriously,_ ” Brendon halts in his tracks. _He_ wasn’t supposed to be taking this very seriously, either. _“Damn. Brenny’s got himself a crush._ ” He smiles to himself the whole walk back to the hotel.


	2. Chapter 2

          The next day, Brendon plans to spend most of his day off lounging around. Spencer asks him about his day yesterday.

          “Nothing came out of it, really.”

          “Get any numbers? Anyone good?”

          “Got one number. He was cool, I don’t think he’ll call. I won’t bother.”

          “Come on Brendon, you have to give it a shot. You won’t get anywhere with that attitude.” Spencer sounds frustrated as he walks away.

          Brendon skims the short list of his options. He could call Dallon, wait for Dallon to call him, or do nothing at all. He decides to go out on a limb today, and calls Dallon. He goes and finds his jacket, where the index card still waits. When Brendon pulls the card out, he notices that after Dallon wrote his phone number, he wrote a very small, very inconspicuous “x”. He tries not to swoon too hard.

          Sitting at the small table in the corner of the hotel room, Brendon stresses over the boy on the other end of the line. He doesn’t even know what to say. He hasn’t had to do anything like this since… Well, ever, really. His right leg jitters under the table, rattling the various plastic silverware left there since last night. He shifts his jaw back and forth and shakes his head. All these nervous tells coming out, over a guy that probably doesn’t care. Brendon finally grows frustrated enough to get it over with, and dials the number. All of his tics cease as the dial tone floods his ear.

          “Hi, thanks for calling Dallon. Leave a message.”

          The only thing Brendon can muster is a quick, unintelligible exclamation before he hangs up. He feels very dismayed, he should have known. In fact, he did know. He’d been telling himself since he left the café that there was no way Dallon was being sincere. And yet, Brendon was still left with a dull panging of heartbreak in his chest.

          So, he laid in his bed and groaned unabashedly so that everyone could participate in his anguish.

          “Shut the fuck up, Urie.”

          “Thanks, Zack.”

          Only about fifteen minutes later did Spencer finally give in and investigate.

          “Brendon, are you okay? Did something happen?”

          “I called him, Spence. I called him.”

          “And?”

          “It rang and went to voicemail.”

          “Well, that’s shitty.”

          “Thanks, Spencer.” Brendon resumes his moaning. Spencer promptly places his hand over Brendon’s open mouth.

          “Oh, god, no. No more of that. Please.” Spencer removes his hand, and continues. “Well, Brendon, you said you didn’t expect much from it anyway. You seemed like you didn’t care. I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I’m glad you had this, though. It was a good exercise, good practice. At least this proved that you can get back into the game, you know? Gotta look at the positives, bud.”

          Spencer pats Brendon on the chest and gets up to resume what he was doing. Brendon pulls the covers over his head and rolls over.

          “ _Sleeping will definitely rid me of this stupid pain,_ ” he concludes. Just as Brendon begins to fall asleep, though, his phone buzzes beneath his pillow. He elects to ignore it, for sleep beckons. He quickly falls into a shallow slumber.

 

***

 

          Brendon wakes with a start, and reaches for his phone. The clock says he’s only been asleep for about twenty minutes. Brendon notices the “missed call” icon in the corner, and the pitiful sinking feeling returns in his chest as he relives the embarrassing noise he made into Dallon’s voicemail box. He sighs noisily before unlocking his phone.

          There’s a voicemail to go along with the missed call from earlier, so Brendon dials in to listen. He nearly snaps his neck trying to sit up in his bed when he hears who left it.

          “Hey, Brendon. Uh, it’s Dallon. I called you about fifteen minutes ago, but it went to voicemail. To be honest, I got a little flustered and didn’t leave you anything. But, I’m calling again. Guess you’re busy? Ah, just give me a call back, I won’t be busy. T-T-F-N, sweetthang.”

          In his rush to get out of his bed, Brendon catches himself on the sheets and falls to the floor. Spencer happens to be passing by at the same time.

          “Fuck, B, are you okay?”

          “Yeah, I’m fine, ah, yeah. Thanks.”

          “What’s going on? You sound worried.”

          “Uh, well, Spence, he called me. Hah, actually, he called me twice. We must’ve called each other at the same time. We got each other’s voicemails.”

          “Oh, wow. This will be an adorable story for you two to tell your grandkids.”

          “Ah, shut up.”

          Brendon curses himself for ignoring the call earlier. He sits down at the little table again, though this time, the silverware’s been cleared away. Breathing deep, he hits the redial button. This time, it only rings twice before Dallon answers.

          “Hey, wow.”

          “Uh, yeah, hey.”

          “The elusive Mister Brendon Urie finally has time to call one of his lowly fans, eh?”

          “It sure is tough being so busy all the time. You can’t see it, but I’ve got my hand over my heart. You know, to show I’m sincere.” Brendon thumps his chest with his open palm.

          “Wow, I’m so glad I fell for someone as nice as you, Mister Urie!”

          “I do what I can for the sake of –“

          “Wait, okay. I can do witty banter for the rest of our phone batteries, but instead, let’s go out and share hilarious jokes in person.”

          “What?”

          “C’mon, let’s go out. I know all the best places in Salt Lake. Lemme wine ‘n’ dine you, Mister Urie.”

          Brendon pulls the phone away from his face to briefly consider this proposition.

          “Wait, seriously? You’re not pulling some shitty prank on me?”

          “Why would I do that?”

          “Well, yesterday, at the café, you and your friends didn’t really seem all that serious about finding a date.”

          “That’s probably because my friends _weren’t_ serious about finding a date, and I didn’t want them to know that I _was_ serious. Brendon, I wanna go out with you.”

          It takes a lot for Brendon to play it cool.

          “Yeah, okay. Yeah, definitely. Let’s do it. When?”

          “Well, I’m free right now.”

          “Now? Damn, you were serious about the not waiting thing.”

          “I tell no lies. You ready to hit the town?”

          “I was born ready.”

          After Brendon gives Dallon the address of his hotel, he jumps up and into action. He rummages through his luggage to find something clean to wear. He sheds what he’s currently wearing and tosses it behind him. Spencer comes out of the bathroom and is greeted with the shirt Brendon was just wearing.

          “Looks like the call went well?”

          “We’re going out!”

          “Now? Jesus. Dude’s not very patient, is he?”

          “It’s not like we’re in Utah forever.”

          “This is true, which is why I think you should be careful.”

          Brendon pauses to look at his best friend.

          “What do you mean?”

          “I’m just saying, don’t get your hopes up, I guess.”

          “You’re the one that told me to do this in the first place. Then you told me to call him. I’ll be fine, anyway.”

          “I guess so. Love you, B.”

          “I love you too, buddy.” Brendon flashes a cheesy smile at Spencer.

***

          Brendon stands on his tip-toes and cranes his neck looking for Dallon. It occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know what kind of car Dallon drives. So, instead, Brendon takes to compulsively fixing his skinny black tie and straightening his collar. A few long minutes later, an old-looking, champagne-colored sedan pulls up and the lanky boy steps out. Brendon internally denies the idea that his heart jumped, and works very hard to digest the butterflies that have manifested in his gut.

          “Sir, your chariot awaits.” Dallon feigns an English accent.

          Brendon steps into the car, nodding to Dallon as he holds the door open for him. Dallon takes a long sweeping bow and smiles delicately at Brendon, eyebrows raised.

          “I do hope you’ll find everything to be satisfactory on this ride.”

          Dallon shuts the door and moves around to the driver’s side. Once he’s put his seatbelt on, he puts on some cheesy, indie love song. He looks over at Brendon and his smile grows mischievous for a split second before returning to sweet and delicate. Brendon laughs softly.

          “Where are we off to?”

          “Ah, that’s for me to know, and for you to find out.”

          The drive is a little longer than Brendon expected it to be. The cheesy love songs continue to filter through the stereo. Dallon doesn’t talk much, but Brendon is fine with that. Brendon’s nerves are acting up, and he’s not sure he could hold a conversation in this state. His leg tries to jitter every few minutes, but he stops it. His jaw, though, he can’t stop. That’s over before he can even notice it’s happening. He hopes Dallon doesn’t notice.

          “Are you c-comfortable, Brendon?” Dallon clears his throat.

          “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.”

          “Of cou-course.” Dallon clears his throat again, louder this time.

          “Are _you_ okay?”

          Dallon clears his throat before speaking.

          “I’m fine, I just st-tutter a bit when I’m nervous. This leads to me clearing my throat compulsively. That’s all. I’m fine, though. Thank you for asking.” Dallon’s sentence is punctuated by him pulling into the small parking lot of a restaurant called “Bruce’s”. A hand-painted sign on the face of the building reads “Fine Italian Dining” in swooping cursive. Dallon checks his watch before undoing his seatbelt.

          “We’re right on time.” He smirks.

          Dallon hurriedly moves over to the passenger’s side of his car. Brendon watches him, confused. Only when Dallon opens Brendon’s door does he understand.

          “No date of mine opens their own doors.”

          Brendon steps out and straightens his blazer out. He turns to catch Dallon straightening his bowtie and tweed jacket. Dallon looks up.

          “You’re looking dapper, by the way.”

          “As are you. Ya’ clean up nice.”

          They walk to the restaurant and once inside, the hostess notices them and begins to speak.

          “Oh, Dallon! Glad you could make it. Right over here!”

          She leads them to a table that’s off in a corner, with two place settings and a candle burning off to one side.

          “Please do enjoy your meal.” The hostess smiles wide and walks off, casting a final glance over her shoulder.

          “Wow, you didn’t tell me you were so popular.”

          “She’s an old friend from high school.”

          “Doesn’t make you not-popular.”

          “I suppose so.”

          Dallon’s gaze drifts to the ceiling. Brendon begins to consider what he wants to eat. He soon realizes that he doesn’t have a menu, and Dallon doesn’t either.

          “Aren’t we supposed to have menus? I mean, I know it’s probably just your basic Italian selection, but I’d –“

          “Don’t worry about it, Brendon.”

          “Uh, but I’m hungry.”

          “Don’t worry about it.”

          “Dallon, if I don’t get to eat, I’m –“

          “Brendon, close your eyes for a sec. Don’t open ‘til I say so.”

          Brendon sighs, but he obeys. Almost immediately, he hears someone approach the table. The sound of a ceramic plate hitting the tablecloth is audible, and Brendon’s curiosity is piqued. He raises his eyebrows and cocks his head, eyes still closed. He hears Dallon shuffle something around before he responds.

          “Alright, open ‘em.”

          Brendon is greeted by a large plate of spaghetti and meatballs.

          “Oh, my god. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe that on our first date, you fucking _Lady and the Tramp_ ed it. I’m in awe.”

          “You’re gettin’ romanced, Brendon,” Dallon unfolds his napkin to place it on his lap. “Also, I love the implications that the phrase ‘first date’ holds.”

          “What implications are those?”

          “That there will be more,” Dallon has already begun eating. He gestures to the plate. “You said you were hungry.”

          Brendon laughs and grabs his fork. They eat without much conversation, they share a comfortable quiet. Dallon breaks the silence a few minutes later.

          “Okay, let’s do this.”

          “What are we doing?”

          “ _Lady and the Tramp_ ing it, duh.”

          “Oh, god.”

          Dallon scoots his chair in, beckoning for Brendon to do the same. Brendon rolls his eyes and complies. With his fork, Dallon shuffles around the remaining food and finds a noodle of appropriate length. He maneuvers one end of the noodle into his own mouth and extends the fork so that Brendon can do so as well. Brendon furrows his eyebrows in embarrassment and follows suit. Dallon giggles and begins eating. As they reach the center of the spaghetti, Brendon begins to giggle, too. Their faces get closer, and Brendon closes his eyes out of habit. The noodle breaks and Brendon begins to move away, but before he can, Dallon moves in urgently and kisses him. Brendon’s eyes flutter open and promptly close again. Their noses are mashed together, Dallon’s lips are pressed firmly against Brendon. Dallon’s out of his seat, leaned over the table to reach Brendon, whose stomach is doing flips and whose heart is going a mile a minute.

          Dallon breaks the kiss, and Brendon opens his eyes to see Dallon staring intently at his lips. Dallon stands abruptly, clearing his throat, and leaving Brendon leaning awkwardly bent over the table. Brendon snaps back into his chair, and Dallon slowly lowers himself into his seat. As soon as he does, he bursts into apologies.

          “I’m, wow. I’m sorry. I didn’t actually, I wasn’t gonna –“ Dallon clears his throat again. “I wasn’t planning on kissing you, I’m so sorry. I’m, ah, that was out of line. I’m sorry.”

          “You weren’t planning on kissing me?”

          “No, I mean, I wasn’t going to just spring it on you like that. It was too quick, too soon. It was just gonna be the stupid spaghetti gag, but then you were there, and your eyes were closed, it just happened. But it shouldn’t have. I’m so sorry.”

          “Dallon, it’s okay.”

          “It’s not. I should have respected your space. I should have at least asked you. God, damn. I’m sorry.”

          “Dallon, I understand why you’re upset. But don’t be. It’s okay. I wasn’t expecting it, but it was one hundred percent welcome.”

          “Are you sure?”

          “I’m positive.”

          “Ugh,” Dallon slumps his head into his hands, clears his throat a few times, and shakes out his hair. “Okay. In other news, how was it?”

          “Oh, man. It wasn’t that good, Dallon. Our noses were all crunched, you kinda fell into me, lotsa pressure, too firm.”

          Dallon puts his hand on his chin in a thinker pose and nods solemnly.

          “What’s your ultimate conclusion?”

          “I would definitely kiss you again.”

          “Chalk one up for cheesy spaghetti gags!”

          Dallon pumps his fist in triumph. Brendon watches his small celebration and finds a deep appreciation for Dallon’s worry before. He really was fine with the kiss, and he wouldn’t want Dallon to think anything else, but his concern was respectable. Dallon stands again, knocking the table with his legs.

          “Let’s go. Time for part two.”

***

          Dallon parks his car in a lot amongst many others, but there’s no sign of what the lot is for. There’s a small hill about 50 feet away that obscures everything past it.

          “Dallon, is this Salt Lake’s Makeout Point? I don’t think I’m ready for that.” Brendon feigns innocence.

          “God, no. I’m not that tasteless. C’mon.” Dallon gestures toward the hill. Brendon takes a few quick strides to catch up with Dallon, and when he does, Dallon grabs his hand. Brendon is thankful for the dark cover of the evening, because the blush he’s harboring is nothing short of embarrassing. As the crest of the hill grows nearer, Dallon stops.

          “Wait, I’m not sure you’re ready for this.”

          “What?”

          “I mean, what’s over that hill is… Well, it’s really something.”

          “You think I’m not cool enough for whatever’s over this hill?”

          “I just think you might be a little blown away, is all. I guess this is just me warning you.”

          “I can take it. I’m ready. I’m pumped.”

          Dallon laughs and leads Brendon to the crest of the hill. Brendon’s mouth drops open at the sight in front of him. A beautiful waterfront stretches out as far as he can see. There are people milling around, some young couples, some small families, some all alone. The water is calm, save for a few waves lapping the banks. Lights from the waterfront and from the buildings along the shore glisten on the water and create a charming illusion of stars. The final colors of the day paint the sky brilliant pink and purple; the sun has already disappeared.

          Dallon leans forward to get a look at Brendon’s face. He laughs.

          “Oh, c’mon, let’s get down there.”

          The sweet, lingering smell of freshly cut grass envelops them as they make their way down the hill again. Dallon’s hand is still clasped to Brendon’s. Dallon scans the area, and seems to find what he’s looking for. He tugs on Brendon.

          “Over here.”

          He pulls Brendon over to an arbitrary spot on the waterfront and they situate themselves against the railing.

          “This is great, Dallon. It’s beautiful.”

          “Oh, just you wait. It gets better.”

          Brendon looks over at Dallon, leaning all nonchalantly on the railing. He looks the same as yesterday, except for a certain, nearly undetectable glow about his face. Brendon spends some time trying to figure out what it is, when finally, he realizes that his face is flushed.

          “Are you blushing, Mister Weekes?”

          “I get a little flushed when I’m nervous too. If you want to call it ‘blushing’, I suppose that’s fine.”

          “You’re blushing.”

          “Fine, fine. Look,” Dallon gestures out to the water with his chin. “Don’t miss it.”

          Brendon turns to face the water. In a matter of moments, a loud bang echoes out, startling Brendon and most of the other people on the waterfront.

          “Fireworks? Wow. This is the most cliché date I’ve ever been on.”

          “And?”

          “And to be honest, it’s also the best date I’ve ever been on.”

          “Exactly.”

          The boys watch the fireworks quietly and intently. They really haven’t spoken much the whole night, but Brendon doesn’t mind. In fact, he doesn’t even notice. Dallon’s personality clicks so well with Brendon’s; they don’t have to share small talk. They don’t even know much about each other. But Brendon’s filled with the overwhelming sense that he and Dallon are pretty damn right for each other. If this works out, they’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other, and if it doesn’t, then they’ve not divulged anything to anyone they regret.

          Brendon shakes his head to rid himself of strange thoughts of the future and focuses on what’s happening now, in front of him. Each explosion happens in the blink of an eye, and they’re all beautiful. All executed just right. All the colors blend, all the embers sparkle. Brendon looks to Dallon again and is met with Dallon looking right back at him. Brendon smiles. Dallon leans in, and the two share another kiss. This one’s quicker, and much better. No heavy implications, no barrier between them. Dallon pulls back and smiles wide. Then he pulls Brendon’s hand up to his face and kisses that, too. The contact sends a shiver down Brendon’s spine. He smiles, and they both turn back to the fireworks. The finale begins. Firework after firework illuminates the evening sky. Each one a different color, different pattern, different size than the last.

          Even after the final sparkle faded from the sky, Brendon and Dallon stand at the railing, looking out over the dark water. After most of the people around them leave, Brendon speaks.

          “Anything else planned after this?”

          “Mm, maybe. Not sure.”

          “Not sure?”

          “It depends.”

          “What’s it depend on?”

          “Ah, ahem. Whether or not you’d l-like to come back to my ap-partment.”

          This time, Brendon clears his throat nervously.

          “Yeah, yes. Yeah, I, I would love to.”

          “Splendid. Let’s go then.”

          Brendon is yet again tugged along by the hand. Once they are a few yards from the car, Dallon stops.

          “Oh my god. I forgot to open your door for you before.”

          “It’s fine, I –“

          “Don’t even try. I won’t have it.”

          Dallon lets go of Brendon’s hand and runs to the passenger side of his car and opens the door. Brendon laughs and runs to catch up.

          The car ride is the same as before: The soft music, the white noise of the light wind outside, relative silence. Only this time, the silence between them is palpable. Brendon cannot stop his leg from bouncing, and Dallon clears his throat every few minutes. Brendon clears his throat once, and that draws Dallon’s attention. Dallon glances over at Brendon and reaches for his hand. Once their fingers intertwine, Brendon’s leg stops, Dallon doesn’t clear his throat anymore. The gesture feels like a mutual reassurance of _“it’s fine, we’re fine, don’t worry”_.

          Dallon’s apartment is in a slightly upscale part of the city. When they park, Brendon sits still while Dallon rushes to get the door for him. When Brendon steps out of the car and stands up fully, Dallon meets him. He kisses Brendon long and full, and they hold like that for a few moments before he slowly puts his hands on either side of Brendon’s face, thumbs on his cheekbones, palms cupping his chin, fingers grazing his ears. Dallon leans to kiss deeper and Brendon welcomes it, his tongue clumsy with lack of practice.

          When Dallon pulls away, he slams the car door shut and pulls on Brendon’s tie.

          “C’mon.”


	3. Chapter 3

          Dallon tugs on Brendon’s tie a little harder, and Brendon quickly follows behind him. As he leads Brendon up the stairs to his apartment he takes Brendon’s hand, fiddling with his keys in the other. He remains silent until the door is open.

          “Sorry about the mess. I could lie and say I wasn’t expecting anyone, but I’m just lazy.”

          Brendon smiles at the idle talk, but his thoughts are going a mile a minute. He’s not sure what to expect; it’s been awhile, and he’s not had much experience anyway. Brendon tries to focus on Dallon and his quiet ramblings.

          “But it was really just under the chair. I don’t know why I didn’t look there to begin with.”

          Brendon notices that Dallon hasn’t stumbled over any of his words in awhile. He seems collected, albeit excited. That fact alone unnerves Brendon a bit. Dallon’s not nervous anymore, but Brendon’s still shifting his jaw every few moments. Dallon takes off his jacket and hangs it over a chair in the tiny dining room.

          “Hey, go ahead and sit down, I’ll grab you some water. Holler if you want anything else.”

          The seats of the sofa are the only surfaces in the room that aren’t cluttered and messy. Brendon sits, limbs tight and close, confining himself to the corner of the sofa. As he takes off his jacket, he tries to calm himself down.

          _“Okay, nothing has to happen, right? Nothing has to happen between us. I’m fine. Dallon’s a good guy. It’s all good. We’re just gonna hang out, and if it leads to anything, I’ll field that when it gets to me. I’m alright.”_ Brendon feels himself relaxing. He takes a deep breath and tries to sit more comfortably on the couch.

          “I was thinking we could just watch TV, talk. Get to know each other a little better, I suppose.” Dallon comes from the small kitchen with two glasses of water. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. I’ll take you back, just lemme know.”

          “Thanks. What are we gonna watch?”

          “I figure that’s not too important. I’ll be more focused on you, anyway.”

          “I just want to be sure we have suitable background ambience for our conversation.”

          “Ah, don’t worry about it. I’ll put on a sitcom or something.” The TV flickers on.

          “Just as long as it doesn’t have a laugh track. I don’t want to divulge my deepest, darkest secrets to you, only to have them punctuated by canned laughter.”

          “Good point. Hmm, here, this looks good.” Dallon settles for a show that’s indistinguishable from most others. “What kind of deep, dark secrets do you have, anyway?”

          “Probably none. Deep secrets, yeah. Dark secrets, sure. Deep _and_ dark? Nah.”

          “Tell me any kind of secret, then.”

          “You first.”

          “As soon as I left the speed-dating place, I called my friend from Bruce’s and set our reservations.”

          “You must have a lot of faith in your pick-up skills.”

          “I couldn’t risk not being prepared if you said ‘yes’. Your turn.”

          “I didn’t even want to go to the speed-dating thing in the first place. My friend, Spencer, kinda forced me into it.”

          Dallon laughs. “I get it. Not exactly the most romantic thing, huh? I really don’t know how I got my friends to stick around.”

          “It’s your turn again.”

          Dallon thinks for a moment. “I’m really, really glad you were there.”

          Brendon turns away from Dallon to take a drink from his glass of water, cursing his fair skin for allowing such violent blushing.

          “Your turn, sweetthang.”

          Brendon scratches his chin. “I can’t think of any more secrets.”

          “Then you’ll just have to start from the beginning.”

          “What?”

          “Just tell me about your life up until this point.”

          “Uh, okay. Well, I was actually born in Utah.”

          “That’s a good place to start.”

          Brendon continues talking until he’s covered most major events in his life. He talks about his band, and when they first took off. He talks about Spencer and Ryan. He talks about his family, his high school. Dallon listens intently, asking questions and interjecting with commentary here and there. When he finishes, Dallon begins to tell his life story. He talks about different events, like graduating high school, forming his band, and getting his first job. Dallon’s not in a world-famous band, so his life is significantly mellower. Dallon’s stories begin to wind down, and Brendon begins to nod off. Dallon’s voice is like a quiet song being looped over and over; soft and familiar, easy to listen to.

          Dallon shifts in his seat to be closer to Brendon, who wakes up immediately.

          “Oh, hey, a movie’s on now. Let’s watch.”

          Dallon slings his arm around Brendon and they turn their attention to the screen. Brendon can’t stay focused for long; sleepiness encroaches upon him again. His head slumps down onto Dallon’s shoulder, prompting a glance his way. Dallon pulls Brendon in closer, a small gesture of contentedness. The hushed noises only push Brendon closer to sleep; the voices from the television, the rumble of the refrigerator in the next room, the quiet rasp of Dallon’s breath in his chest.

          Brendon’s final visions of consciousness are just fading out as he feels Dallon’s index finger under his chin. Brendon stirs a bit, but Dallon continues to usher his chin upward. He doesn’t have a chance to open his eyes before his lips make contact with Dallon’s. Brendon raises his eyebrows in surprise, but welcomes the kiss. He can feel the heat emanating from Dallon’s face as he deepens the embrace. Dallon’s breathing is ragged, with desire or nerves Brendon can’t tell. In his tired stupor, Brendon reaches for Dallon’s waist, forcing his back off the sofa a bit, and pulling the pair closer together. Dallon completes the little circuit by putting his other hand on the small of Brendon’s back.

          The couple kisses slowly, passionately, noisily. Brendon’s mind gets going again. His hands haven’t moved in a long while, and one hand is just resting between them. Brendon worries about hand placement and it shows as his kissing skill takes a dive. Dallon pulls away, but not far.

          “You okay?” His breath is shaky, but soft.

          “I’m fine, I just… I don’t know what I’m doing.”

          “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of you.”

          With those words, Brendon feels a blurry warmth flood his body; his nerves melt away.

          “Do you want to keep going?”

          “Yes.”

          Dallon pulls Brendon’s lower half toward him to make room for the rest of his body. Dallon gingerly lowers Brendon’s upper half down onto the sofa with his head resting on the arm. Dallon slowly perches himself on top of Brendon, straddling him at the hips.

          Brendon, with his mouth hanging open slightly, looks up at his date and takes in his boyish, coy looks, basked in the dim light of the television. In one subtle, fluid motion, Dallon’s tongue flickers out over his bottom lip and his teeth draw it in. His eyelids linger halfway over his eyes, heavy with desire. He leans down to loosen Brendon’s tie; Brendon reaches up to reciprocate. Inexperienced with bowties and agonizing over the increasing tightness in his pants, Brendon fumbles, instead settling to play with Dallon’s hair, tugging lightly near the nape of his neck. Dallon smirks, loops Brendon’s tie over his head, and unravels his own tie in one fell swoop.

          “Unbutton your shirt.”

          Dallon’s urging is gentle enough, but still plays a dirty tune to Brendon’s ear. His hands are even more uncoordinated as his arousal only increases. He’s so focused on getting out of his shirt that he nearly shouts with surprise when Dallon’s hand grazes the skin of his waist. Dallon’s hands feel hot on Brendon’s skin, only furthering Brendon’s ability to relax. Dallon runs his hands along the length of Brendon’s torso, starting at the sides of his face, ending with his fingers just barely dipping beneath the waistband of Brendon’s briefs.

          Brendon’s abs contort at the gentle, tickling contact. He chokes out constricted, breathy noises. He hardly has time to admire Dallon’s body.

          The boy above him is lean, but built. He’s tall, but not in the torso. His skin is fair, too, but it possesses a golden twinge that Brendon’s skin lacks. His shoulders are broad and his chest is muscular. In the moment, in the heat of their passion, Brendon sees a perfect body sitting on top of him.

          Dallon leans forward to kiss the boy beneath him before pushing himself up off the couch with one hand and planting a foot on the floor. He uses his free hand to push Brendon’s legs apart. He then situates himself between Brendon’s legs, just past his knees.

          “D’you still want to keep going?”

          “Yeah, I do.”

          Dallon places his hot hands up at Brendon’s ribs, and his face ends up right along Brendon’s waist. Brendon cranes his neck backward, desire pulsing through him. Dallon plants a kiss just to the left of Brendon’s naval, which forces Brendon’s back to arch suddenly, but only a little. Slowly but surely, Dallon begins to pepper Brendon’s waistline with warm, wet kisses, each one evoking a reaction. One hand leaves Brendon’s side to instead grip his hip.

          Brendon’s voice, saturated with yearning, escapes his chest when Dallon suddenly licks a spot below his waistband. Embarrassed, Brendon breathes deeply and coarsely. He feels Dallon breathing on all the little damp spots he left, his breath hot and uneven.

          Then, Dallon presses his palm along the length of Brendon’s erection.

          Brendon can hardly contain himself. Violent arching of the back is accompanied by a long-overdue groan. Dallon takes this opportunity to undo his own pants, while pawing at Brendon’s at the same time. His own rigid length in hand, Dallon begins working on his partner. Brendon’s hands are gripping the sofa as if for dear life as Dallon strokes him slow and firm. Brendon’s whimpers hang delicate in the air.

          Brendon watches as Dallon tends to himself, as well. That sight alone is enough to fuel Brendon’s pleasure. He squeezes his eyes shut and allows the bliss to overcome him. A new sensation sends earthquake-like shocks through his body, and he half-sits up as a result. He looks down to see Dallon taking his member into his mouth. Brendon cries out in ecstasy as Dallon hums low and long around him. Dallon moves up to the tip, swirling his tongue around in delicious patterns. In his delirium, Brendon rolls his hips up towards Dallon, craving more. Dallon responds by ducking his head farther down, taking the length with ease. Brendon creates a rhythm with his hips, which Dallon matches quickly. The heat of Dallon’s mouth is overwhelming, his tongue flits around in all the right places, and he’s leaving nothing unattended to.

          Only a few moments later, Dallon’s humming is briefly interrupted by a quick choking noise, denoting his finish. Brendon’s toes clench involuntarily, and he knows he’s getting close too. He runs a hand through Dallon’s hair and grasps a fistful. Dallon doesn’t seem to be phased and continues. Brendon releases Dallon’s hair and belts out a low, guttural moan as he reaches climax. His peak causes him to lose most of his senses for just a moment; all he experiences is the rush and release of orgasm.

          Dallon pulls away from Brendon, swallows, and takes a drink from one of the glasses on the table. He all but collapses on Brendon, their bare skin still exchanging electricity. Both are still breathing raggedly. Brendon hardly notices.

          “Did you have fun?”

          “Shh, Dallon. I’m still basking in the afterglow.”

          “Ah, my mistake.”

          The pair lies in silence. Brendon's senses slowly come back to him, and the tingling fades away. A full minute goes by before he speaks again.

          “Okay. Okay. Yeah, I had fun. Did you?”

          “God, yes.”

          “Did we make a mess?”

          “I did. But I don’t feel like thinking about it now. I’ll probably just flip the couch cushion.”

          “Gross.”

          Brendon laughs quietly. He finds great happiness in this fleeting moment: The glow of passion still clinging to him, watching Dallon’s head rise and fall with the pattern of his breath, the thrum of the television in the background. It all feels warm, and Brendon finds himself feeling grateful for it. He makes a mental note to remember this.

          “Hey, you wanna, uh, stay the night?”

          “God, I thought you’d never ask.”

          Dallon lifts his head and smiles sleepily.

          “Alright, sweet. There’s one rule for my bed, though.”

          “What’s that?”

          “No pants.” Dallon nearly leaps up in his rush to remove Brendon’s pants.

          “Oh, come on. Do your own; I’m a big boy.”

          “Oh, yes you are.”

          Dallon traipses back to his bedroom, and Brendon follows behind shortly. In a stark contrast to the living room, the bedroom is tidy and clean; the bed is even made. No sooner than Brendon is in the room, Dallon’s pants hit him in the face. When they’ve fallen away, he sees that Dallon’s already clambered into the bed. Dallon grabs the opposite corner of the sheets and pulls them back. The coy look he gave Brendon the first time they met returns, and he pats the bed.

          “Come on in, sweetthang.”

          Brendon pulls his phone out of his pants pocket and places it on the nightstand. He sheds his pants and promptly gets into the bed to escape the cold. Dallon moves right up behind Brendon and embraces him.

          “Good to know you’re a post-sex cuddler.”

          “You’d sooner catch me dead than refusing a good cuddle sesh’.”

          Dallon turns over to switch the light off and then hunkers down in the sheets. Brendon hunkers down in to the curve of Dallon’s body. After only a few minutes, Dallon’s breathing grows even, and Brendon’s just fading into sleep, when he remembers something.

          He reaches out to the nightstand and grabs his phone, and composes a quick text to Spencer.

          “Don’t wait up. :)”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my first ever smut scene please tell me specifically all the ways it's horrible so i can improve thanks


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